Today the last of the tents
Were dismantled, erased from the desert
And all but the children have forgotten
If they knew at all.
Only the sound remains,
The vibrato of the dust bowl’s choir,
The closeness of the vibrations
And how they clawed their way in
Beneath the arteries.
I, laughing,
Was floating far above your figure,
Though grounded in the eyes of strangers
Who could reflect only elation.
You anchored my hand with a finger.

Here see the Man fashioned with twigs
And the Davids of our Michaelangelos,
While love love
Love grew in an orchard all around me
Until it met the sky
And I couldn’t sensibly distinguish the two.
This was were the sound began,
Our throats chapping, we saw only a torch
Traveling in the absence of an architect:
Our eyes had broken. An explosion of
Anticipation shook you from your language;
The flames ventured toward our Man.

I remember the color of music,
And how forever
The very dismantling of reticence
Burned for us.